


In the Shadow of the Estuary

by c0dfish



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26481343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0dfish/pseuds/c0dfish
Summary: A lonely librarian in an abandoned school wakes up one night to find himself possessed by the ghost of a 3000-year-old half-elf sorcerer. Hilarity ensues.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original fic based on a D&D campaign set in the world of Lurith (a setting created by my wonderful partner, Dan). Feedback is welcome, just be nice :)

Near the western coast, in the sparsely-inhabited coniferous forests to the north of Benet, nestled within the mountain range known as the Mounds of Meron, there is a school.

Or, at least, there _was_ a school. The grand castle-like building still stands, but its lecture halls and laboratories gather dust and cobwebs. Even the tiny town the school resides in, Le’repos de L’aile, has been all but abandoned, save for a handful of individuals: a farming family of gnomes, and a lonely human librarian.

Conrad was having a nightmare.

It wasn’t the recurring one he usually had—the day he failed his entrance exam to the school in Kibudeem. It was unlike any of his usual nightmares. For one thing, it was extremely vivid.

There was a man in front of him. He appeared to be human, but it was hard to tell because the man’s face was extremely deteriorated. His skin was dry and paper-thin, pulled taut over high cheekbones like stretched leather. His nose was almost completely gone, to the point where he could see bone. A tattered scarf wrapped around the man’s head and shoulders, yet his decaying face remained uncovered.

The most striking feature of the man, however, was his eyes. His irises were a glowing yellow, almost amber in hue, and they were locked onto Conrad’s with an intensity that’d make the librarian uncomfortable, even if the man wasn’t in such a state of decay.

Conrad couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could only stare back at the terrible face staring at him. Then, the man’s rotted, almost lipless mouth opened, and he said—

“CONRADERE.”

Conrad bolted upright in his small, creaky bed as a peal of thunder ripped through the inky night. He sat there, panting and clutching the ratty blanket in both hands, trying to tear his mind back to the present.

He fumbled for the glasses on his nightstand, slipping them on with unsteady hands. He debated for a moment over whether he should try to go back to sleep, but his thoughts were interrupted by an urgent tapping at his window.

A flash of lightning illuminated his small, drafty room for a moment through the crack in his curtains, followed shortly by another peal of thunder. Conrad counted only two seconds between the light and the sound. The storm was close.

_Tap! Tap, tap!_ There it was again, even more insistent than before. Hesitantly, Conrad uncovered the Everbright lantern on his nightstand, flooding the chamber with a bluish light. He picked up the lantern and shuffled carefully over to the window, the tapping never ceasing.

With a deep breath, Conrad whipped the curtains open, and was greeted by the sight of a large crow standing on his window ledge.

For a moment, Conrad was relieved. Despite the rain, he threw open the window, wondering if this crow was someone’s messenger. It wasn’t until the crow politely hopped inside and down onto his desk that Conrad realized what it actually was.

Like the man in his nightmare, this crow was also severely decayed. Ribs and rotting muscle showed through sparse feathers and its wings were torn and frayed. Conrad could hardly believe the thing had managed to fly up here.

“O-oh dear, y-you look a little worse for wear,” Conrad said to the bird with a nervous laugh, taking a step back from the window.

The crow cawed in reply, flapping back up to the windowsill. Conrad watched it fly off, marvelling that the creature could still fly at all. He closed the window behind it, picking a stray feather off his desk and tucking it into his bag of spell components.

He closed the curtains again, heading back to bed. _As strange as that was,_ he thought to himself with a yawn, _I’ll be better equipped to deal with it in the morning._

_CONRADERE._

Conrad jumped, whipping around with his lantern held out like a weapon, to see where the unseen voice came from.

“Wh-who’s there?” He demanded, but even to his own ears he didn’t sound all that intimidating.

_YOU MAY CALL ME INIHARIT._

It was at this moment that Conrad realized that the voice was not in the room, but in his own head. Not only that; it was a voice he recognized. The voice of the man in his dream.

_Ini… Iniharit?_ Conrad thought.

_YES._

Conrad swallowed thickly. He wasn’t stupid, despite how his former peers had regarded him. He could put two and two together. A vision of a dead (yet living) man, and an undead crow tapping at his window, on the night of the new moon, no less—

_You’re a ghost._ There was a pause.

… _THIS IS ONE WAY TO DESCRIBE MY CURRENT FORM, YES._

_But why are you—_ Conrad was cut-off mid-thought once more, this time by a much more distressing sound. Somewhere in the school, a scream echoed.

“Fuck,” Conrad cursed under his breath, scooching his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. _I’m not going to get much sleep tonight, am I?_

_PERHAPS NOT._

“I wasn’t asking you,” Conrad snapped, but immediately sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect to wake up…” He trailed off.

_…POSSESSED?_ Iniharit replied, finishing Conrad’s sentence.

“Is that what this is?”

_YOU COULD CALL IT THAT._

Conrad huffed, about to reply, when another scream tore through the night somewhere in the bowels of the building beneath him.

_YOU MIGHT WISH TO CHECK ON THAT._

He really didn’t. Conrad was, at heart, a coward. Plus, there was always the chance that he was still asleep, that this was all some elaborate nightmare cooked up by his subconscious and that he’d soon wake up to sunlight drifting through the crack in the curtains—however, he had a sinking feeling that this was all painfully real.

Another scream, this time closer. _Let’s hope this is a dream._ Conrad thought, moving with purpose now. He grabbed the little dagger he kept under his nightstand (that he’d never had to use) and double-checked that his wand was still in the sheathe strapped to his wrist. With a deep breath, he headed down the winding stairs to the school’s library.

“No, NO! Please—AAARGH!”

Conrad paused as he reached the bottom of the stairs, as another scream of anguish echoed through the grand yet dusty corridor. He recognized the voice—they were speaking Gnomish, which could only mean—

“R-Ramone?” Conrad called out, nearing the entrance to the school’s archives.

His fears were confirmed as his lantern illuminated the open doorway to the archives. Before him, his neighbor, Ramone Élever, was sprawled across the flagstones, trying desperately to crawl away from another gnome-sized figure. The other figure appeared to be holding some kind of cat-of-nine-tails and had his boot on Ramone’s leg to keep him from escaping. As Conrad’s lantern light illuminated them both, the attacking figure turned in surprise.

Conrad gasped and stumbled back a step as he saw the attacker’s features. He was a gnome as well, dressed like a hunter or ranger, but he was very clearly dead, and likely had been for some time. His jaw hung slack and crooked, the skin of his face torn across his cheek so that you could see rotting muscle and yellowed, cracked teeth.

The undead gnome made a horrible, rasping sound, and it took Conrad a moment to realize that the fiend was _laughing._

Steeling himself, Conrad raised his hand and activated his wand, sending three darts of force magic spiraling out of its tip and pummeling the undead gnome in his chest with a brilliant flash of light.

The undead roared in anger, bits of spittle flying from the decaying hole in his face that was once his mouth. He charged forward, leaving his victim to escape into the archives.

Conrad managed to step out of the way just in time to miss the first swing of the cat-of-nine-tails, but not the second. The barbed lashes tore across his chest and arms, tearing and staining his robes with blood. He stumbled backwards, barely able to catch himself in time.

_Oh gods,_ Conrad thought in sudden panic, _I’m going to die here. I’m going to fucking die here._

_NOT YET._

Conrad blinked back angry tears at the sound of the voice in his head. _Then you better make yourself useful, ghost._

_GIVE ME CONTROL, CONRADERE, AND I WILL ASSURE YOU THAT WE WILL BOTH SURVIVE THIS._

He didn’t have time to weigh his options. The gnome was already advancing, raising the cat-of-nine-tails over his head with a peal of rasping laughter.

_Fine._

The change was instantaneous. Since he’d first heard Iniharit’s voice in his mind, Conrad could feel his presence. It was like a constant pressure in his skull, almost verging on a headache, but not painful. Now, Conrad realized that Iniharit had been holding back this whole time. As soon as he gave his permission, the pressure intensified, and Conrad found himself a passenger in his own body. He could still feel, see, hear, and smell, but his movements were not his own. He felt like a marionette. It was disorienting to feel himself move without actually willing it.

He felt ~~himself~~ ~~his body~~ Iniharit press a hand to his chest, and he felt his own mouth move and speak in a voice that was not his own, in a language he didn’t understand or even recognize. What he did recognize was that it was a spell.

There was a tingling in the tips of his ears, then a green light emanated from ~~Iniharit’s~~ his hand and flooded into the gaping wounds in his chest. It stung, but Conrad could feel his injuries healing.

_YOU CAN CAST?!_ Conrad nearly shouted aloud.

_CAN’T YOU?_

Conrad didn’t have time to answer that question, as the gnome swung his cat-of-nine-tails towards him once more. Luckily, Iniharit’s reflexes were better than his own, despite the fact that they shared the same form.

Conrad was not just a librarian. He was a transmutation wizard—a _theoretical_ transmutation wizard, that is, since he was human and refused to take on a pact—but a wizard no less. He _knew how_ to cast many spells, he just didn’t have the actual power to cast them. His Wand of Magic Missile was the only real defense he had. But if Iniharit was able to cast, then maybe—

_Fuck it, let’s see if this works._

As he moved, he felt no resistance from Iniharit. Taking back control was as easy as shifting his weight.

“Desharka gubri’kora!” Conrad shouted, smacking the tip of his wand against his palm before pointing it at the undead. His ears tingled again, and he could feel the magic rush through him, funnel through the enchanted wood of the wand, and emerge from its tip as a stream of fire. For the first time in his life, Conrad successfully casted a spell.

The fire set the gnome ablaze, his sagging skin blistering until it was blackened. The creature’s awful screams mixed with manic, rasping laughter. It did not relent, instead raising its hand for another attack.

The blow came down more quickly than Conrad could move, the barbed lashes catching on the side of his neck and tearing open a large gash with a spray of blood. He could barely scream, only make a pathetic, broken, gurgling groan as blood spilled from the corners of his mouth. He fell to his knees, half blinded by pain, mind racing desperately with thoughts of _I’m going to die here I’m going to die here by the gods I’m really going to die here—_

Then, by no will of his own, he pulled himself back to his feet. With one hand, he grasped the mortal wound on his throat, and through a mouthful of blood, he heard Iniharit gasp one last spell.

This time, the rush of magic was completely unlike how it was previously. His ears didn’t tingle—they _burned_. Every nerve in his body was set alight, but it wasn’t painful, nor was it pleasant. It was an overwhelming stimulation, the feeling of an energy his form was never meant to hold. In that moment, he was a conduit for something he could never hope to comprehend.

By the gods, he’d never felt more alive.

The entire chamber was filled with blinding light as a blast of raw energy erupted from his open palm. The undead gave an unearthly howl as he was caught in the spell, ghostly flames licking up the sides of his form until he was consumed in them. Then, it was over, and all that was left of the undead gnome was a smear of ash on the ratty carpet.

Conrad stood there, for a moment, blinking stupidly, warm blood still flowing from the wound on his neck. Then, he passed out.

The next time Conrad opened his eyes, he was in his bed. He blinked sleepily, rubbing his eyes. He fumbled for his glasses and slipped them on, peering around the room. It was morning, as indicated by the thin crack of light showing under the curtains on his window. Though, he didn’t need to rely on the sun to tell time. He always just kind of… knew.

_What a strange dream,_ he thought to himself, _it seemed so realistic…_

When he threw back his threadbare blankets, his heart sank at the sight of his nightrobe. It was torn and stained, still damp with blood in places. Lifting a hand to his throat, he felt a bandage there, sticky with drying blood. He didn’t remember bandaging himself after the fight… could Iniharit have…?

“Iniharit?” He said aloud, suddenly. He no longer felt that same presence in his mind. There was a part of him that felt relieved to be alone again, but he was surprised to find that a much larger part of him felt disappointed by the ghost’s absence. 

_YOU ARE AWAKE._

Conrad jumped as the chair in front of his desk scooted backwards of its own accord. A moment later, he felt Iniharit’s presence pressing into his mind once more. Conrad tried to ignore how relieved he felt by the ghost’s return.

_HOW FARE YOUR WOUNDS?_

Conrad shifted and stretched, wincing as his bones and joints creaked and popped. He was sore, but that wasn’t unusual for a man his age. He was pleasantly surprised by how… unharmed he felt.

_I feel… fine, actually. A little stiff, but that’s all._

_THIS IS GOOD. I WAS WORRIED YOU MIGHT NEVER WAKE. IT IS ADMIRABLE THAT HUMANS ARE ABLE TO ACCOMPLISH SO MUCH WHEN THEY SPEND NEARLY HALF THEIR LIVES ASLEEP._

Conrad was still pretty tired, so it took him a moment to process the implications of that statement.

_You speak as though you aren’t human._

_I AM, AND I AM NOT._

Conrad rolled his eyes.

_Mind being a little less cryptic?_

There was a pause.

_IT IS… HARD TO EXPLAIN. I DO NOT REMEMBER MUCH FROM… BEFORE._

_Before… you died?_ Conrad guessed.

_…YES._

_When you say that you are both human and not human, do you mean in the sense that you are dead? Or were you not human when you were alive as well?_

_I… I BELIEVE I WAS ALSO HUMAN-AND-NOT-HUMAN BEFORE MY DEATH, BUT—_

_You don’t remember. Hm. Any guess as to what the non-human part was?_

Without thinking, he felt his arm lift and his fingers graze the tip of his ear.

_…ELF. I WAS PART ELF. A HALF-ELF, THEY CALLED ME._

Conrad raised his eyebrows. He’d never met an elf before—few could say they had. Some said there weren’t any elves left, or if there were, they were hidden in some secluded place you couldn’t hope to find. Half-elves were even rarer; romantic unions between humans and other races rarely bore fruit, and the offspring of such unions were often barren themselves.

_That would explain why you can cast,_ Conrad mused. _But what brought you here? How did you come to possess me?_

Another pause. Conrad waited patiently as Iniharit formulated his response.

_I DO NOT KNOW FOR CERTAIN, BUT I HAVE A HUNCH. THAT JOURNAL, ON YOUR DESK, WHO DID IT BELONG TO?_

Conrad stood now, padding in stocking feet across the cold flagstones to his desk. Among the piles of scrolls and crumpled pieces of parchment was the ancient journal that Conrad had been working on the day prior. It wasn’t the original journal, of course—it was a copy of a copy of the primary source. It had been originally written in an archaic form of the dialect spoken in Zaserun, which had been translated to Elvish, then to Gnomish, and then it landed in Conrad’s hands. He’d been working on it the last few days to translate it to Kibu, the standard language for academic texts.

_A diplomat, from what I’ve read, who lived just before the fall of Carnath, just over 3000 years ago. He only refers to himself as “Ozanagaal”._

He couldn’t read Iniharit’s thoughts (hopefully, this meant Iniharit couldn’t read his, either) but he could tell that this name meant something to the apparition.

_I WAS TRYING TO READ THE JOURNAL EARLIER, BUT IT IS WRITTEN IN A TONGUE I KNOW NOT. WOULD YOU—?_

Conrad shrugged. _I don’t see why not._

He sat at his desk and began reading quickly, skimming each page before flipping to the next, filtering the words through his mind into pure meaning for Iniharit.

_It’s mainly a lot of political goings-on, but I’m afraid it lacks much context. There’s an interesting entry on some kind of scandal involving another diplomat and one of their servants—_

Since he didn’t have a face of his own, when Iniharit blushed, so did Conrad.

_UNIMPORTANT._ The ghost said quickly, _SKIP TO THE END. THERE’S SOMETHING I MUST KNOW._

Conrad suppressed a smile at the thought of the ghost being embarrassed and flipped more quickly through the pages.

_STOP!_ Iniharit’s voice rang out in his mind. _WHAT DOES THAT SAY?_ Conrad’s hand pointed to a line near the bottom of the page.

_“…but there is another way. He promises he can give me that which is just out of reach. How many years have I yearned for this? How many times have I tried and failed? The clerics in Aloa tell me it is impossible, that I am better off accepting my fate. Yet, I cannot. I dream of holding them in my arms, swathed the softest cotton, so much more precious than any stone or metal. I look down at their face and I know that I would trade anything for them, anything. And yet… and yet, what he asks of me is a crime that would stain the fibers of my very soul. I must tell a great lie—”_

Conrad stopped reading, because the rest of the page was torn. In fact, he realized as he flipped frantically through the rest of the journal, the rest of the pages were disintegrated beyond repair or even recognition.

_Damn. Just when it was getting good._ It was a tragedy, of course, but unfortunately inevitable. All things decayed with time, his job was only to slow such decay by repairing and maintaining the documents, scrolls, and books kept in the school’s library.

Iniharit was quiet. When they were sharing Conrad’s physical form like this, Conrad could feel Iniharit’s emotions, distinct from his own. Something about the passage they’d just read had left him somber.

_Did you… know this Ozanagaal?_

Iniharit was quiet for a moment.

_PERHAPS. I AM NOT SURE YET. I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW MORE._

_I can take a look at the archives downstairs…_

Conrad trailed off, something catching in his mind. _The archives… Wait._

“RAMONE!” Conrad shouted suddenly, standing abruptly. He turned and raced downstairs.

_I FORGOT TO TELL YOU. YOUR FRIEND, HE IS—_

Iniharit didn’t get to finish that sentence, because both he and Conrad had collided into someone standing near the bottom of the stairs.

_—WELL, HE_ WAS _DEAD._

Ramone stumbled back a step, and Conrad reached out a hand to steady him. Conrad wouldn’t have known the man had died the night before, except for the grayish hue to his skin and the bloody gashes across his chest and neck.

“Conrad, is that you?” Ramone asked. There was a rasp to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “I must thank you, my friend. You saved my life last night.”

Guilt twisted like a vice in Conrad’s stomach at his words. He raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck nervously.

“I’m afraid not, Ramone,” he replied slowly.

“What do you—” Ramone started, then a look of realization came over his face. “Oh,” he breathed quietly, “I see.”

The gnomish man’s usually cheerful demeanor was greatly diminished. He walked in a daze over to one of the stools in the archives and sat down. He looked listless and melancholic.

_I don’t think he’s taking the news very well._

_WOULD YOU?_

_Touché._

“How about I make us some tea?” Conrad said, trying to smile reassuringly. It looked more like a grimace.

Ramone didn’t respond, but Conrad wanted tea anyway, so he headed to the kitchen. It was sparsely stocked with the bare essentials he needed to survive.

Le’repos de L’aile was originally established as a refueling station for airships from Benet, just over a century prior. The town grew around it as travellers set down roots and set up shops. Not long after, the university in Kibudeem decided to open a extension of its program, and the real estate in Le’repos de L’aile was cheap, due to the area being mostly undeveloped. That’s when they opened the Veitashung Observatory and School of Naturalism and Transmutation.

However, over time, as airship technologies improved, the need to stop and refuel lessened; to the point where, one day, the airships stopped needing Le’repos de L’aile. Without airships to deliver essential goods and communications to the tiny town, the Veitashung Observatory had no choice but to close, along with the rest of the town. It was abandoned by everyone, with the exception of the Elevers’, and Conrad.

Without airships to deliver goods and news from abroad, Le’repos de L’aile had been all but isolated from the world for the last 10 years. Conrad had had to make due with what he’d found in the abandoned school, mainly surviving off the mushrooms that had been cultivated in one of the now-empty laboratories. Every so often, Fiona or Ramone would bring him some of the produce from their garden.

There was one such basket on the kitchen table, filled with fresh fruits and vegetables. Conrad couldn’t help but feel that pit of guilt in his stomach tighten at the sight of the basket, but his hunger overrode his emotions.

He grabbed an apple from the basket and bit into it.

_I HAVE… NOT EATEN. IN SO LONG._ _I HAD FORGOTTEN THE FEELING OF IT._

_Nice, isn’t it?_ Conrad mused, moving to the stove to light it while he finished his apple. He looked around for a moment for the tinderbox, then realized that he didn’t need it. With a smile and a flick of his wand, the stove was instantly alight. He went to fill the kettle with water, but found himself returning to the basket of fruit instead.

_WHAT IS THIS?_ Iniharit asked as Conrad’s hand moved of its own accord to pick up a cucumber.

_That’s a cucumber,_ Conrad replied, amused, _not my favorite, but they aren’t bad when you—_

Iniharit didn’t wait for an answer, lifting the cucumber to Conrad’s mouth and taking a large bite.

_IT IS VERY PLAIN,_ Iniharit said, chewing thoughtfully.

_I usually slice them and fry them in a skillet with seasonings,_ Conrad replied, setting the cucumber down. _They’re a little plain when eaten raw._

_WHAT IS THIS ONE?_ Iniharit asked, not waiting for Conrad to answer before picking up an orange and raising it to his mouth.

Conrad quickly wrenched control away from Iniharit before he could bite into the unpeeled orange.

“Hold on!” Conrad exclaimed, “Here, let me at least cut it first. Trust me, the peel does _not_ taste good.”

Iniharit relented, waiting patiently for Conrad to dig out a knife and cut the orange into quarters. As soon as Conrad allowed him, he snatched one of the slices and ripped the juicy flesh from it with his teeth.

_THIS… ORANGE, YOU CALL IT?_

_Yup._ Conrad replied, swiping juice from his chin.

_I LIKE THIS ONE VERY MUCH. GIVE ME MORE._

Conrad sighed, rolling his eyes.

_Alright. Let me put the kettle on, and I’ll give you free range until it finishes boiling. You can go hog wild for at least eight minutes._

_I AM AGREEABLE TO THIS,_ Iniharit replied quickly.

Eight minutes later, after eating more than he had eaten in the last week alone, Conrad realized that he and Iniharit had vastly differing definitions of what it meant to go “hog wild”.


	2. Chapter 2

When the tea was ready, Conrad poured two cups and took one to Ramone, who was still sitting in the archives. He was slumped over on his stool, a look of melancholy on his ashen features.

“Here, this might make you feel a bit better,” Conrad said with a tight smile, handing the gnome a cup of tea. Ramone stared at the offered cup for a moment, then took it, returning the smile as best he could.

Conrad wasn’t much of a people person. Never had been, really. But Ramon and his family had been very kind to Conrad since the airships stopped coming, so he felt beholden to the man in some way.

_I just don’t know what to say…_

_GIVE HIM TIME. YOU GET USED TO BEING DEAD._

There was a pause.

_…EVENTUALLY._

_…right. Well, let’s take a look at the archives, then. We’re bound to find something about this “Ozanagaal”, right? Or, at least, more about Carnath._

The archives were small, but Conrad was proud of how organized and maintained he’d managed to keep them since taking over the position of head librarian 25 years prior.

Most students attending the university had had a slim number of career paths post-graduation: go out and sell your skills as services, find a ruler who is willing to bankroll your experiments on the condition that you serve them, or teach. Being an pactless human, Conrad’s only option was teaching.

He found that teaching didn’t much suit him (his students agreed). So when the school happened to have need of a librarian, Conrad volunteered immediately. Fortunately, he ended up being rather good at it.

Conrad moved awkwardly past Ramone—who paid him no mind, staring blankly into his tea cup—and began scanning the shelves for a journal he’d seen a while back on military tactics. He wasn’t usually interested in that sort of thing, but it had included an entry about a place named Carnath, an ancient human empire that later fell to Diis.

He found the journal quickly, but it didn’t tell him much that he didn’t already know. Conrad reshelved the text and went back to his search.

Two hours later, and he knew little more than when he’d started—but it was something. Carnath had a storied past, it seemed.

Conrad had been so caught up in his research, he hadn’t realized that Iniharit’s presence had left his mind until he felt the spirit return.

_FIND ANYTHING?_

Conrad sighed, taking off his glasses to clean them with his sleeve. _Yes—more than I was expecting, considering this school’s focus wasn’t on history. That being said, it isn’t much._

_GET ON WITH IT, THEN._

_Right—_ _the humans that had been enslaved by the so-called “low elves” (or “pale elves” as they’re colloquially known) were able to free themselves with the help of a different group of elves—the “stray elves”. The “stray elves” and the humans worked together to drive the “low elves” back underground, and afterwards, presumably, the humans formed the kingdom of Carnath. The humans and the stray elves got along very well for a while, until the humans (seemingly) turned on the elves out of nowhere._

_…_

_…Iniharit?_

There was a beat of silence, and then Iniharit responded.

_I REMEMBER SOMETHING… I THINK. I’M NOT SURE. I—_

Another beat.

_I DON’T KNOW. WE MUST DO MORE RESEARCH. LET US GO TO CARNATH._

Conrad, who had been taking of sip of his tea while they were “speaking”, immediately sputtered.

_As much as I’d love taking an airship out to the middle of the desert,_ Conrad replied as he set down his tea, _I’m sorry to report that Carnath fell to the Diisian empire a thousand years ago._

_However,_ he continued, _there’s a library in Benet that might have something…_

_THEN THAT IS WHERE WE WILL GO._

_Well, hold on now—the airships don’t stop here anymore—_

_I DON’T KNOW WHAT AN AIRSHIP IS, AND I DON’T CARE._ Iniharit replied, cutting him off. _THE GREAT SORCERERS I REMEMBER TRAVELLED BY MAGIC. HAVE YOU SOMETHING SUCH AS THAT?_

Conrad pictured the defunct teleportation circle in the east tower so that Ini could see it. _I’ve never been able to get it to work. It’s way out of my realm._

_THEN WE SHALL WALK._

Conrad began to reply, but was interrupted by the sudden sound of a chair scraping across the floor. He jumped, having forgotten that Ramone had been sitting there the entire time.

He was starting to walk towards the school’s lobby, movements slow and stiff.

“Hey, wait—” Conrad called out, hurrying over to put a hand on the gnome’s shoulder, “—you must be careful around sunlight. It will reduce you to ash.”

The gnome paused, looking back at Conrad. “My wife and children will be worried about me,” Ramone replied. His tone was affectless, but his face showed concerned.

_YOU CAN GO CHECK ON THEM FOR HIM, IF YOU WISH_ , spoke Iniharit in his mind once more, _I SHALL WAIT HERE._

“I can go and check on your family, if you wish,” Conrad offered gently.

Ramone looked down at himself, then nodded. “Just—” he added, “just, don’t tell Fiona that I’m…”

He trailed off, looking away from Conrad.

“…I understand. I’ll be back soon,” Conrad replied. Ramone nodded to himself again, shuffling back to the stool by the entrance to the archives. Conrad felt Iniharit leave him as well, the pressure in his mind easing.

When he was certain that no undead were in the way of the door, he opened it, and stepped out into the morning sun.

Le’repos de L’aile had never been a bustling town, and after the airships stopped coming, it was hard to even call it a “town”. With no one to maintain it, the main road soon succumbed to overgrown grasses and wildflowers. The only real paths left were the ones leading from the remaining buildings and the town’s well, which sat in an open courtyard between the school and the home of the Elevers.

As Conrad passed by the well, he noticed small piles of ash dotting the ground every few feet. Above him, he heard the familiar caw of a crow. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he looked up, spotting the bird, who was perched in the shade on one of the school’s buttresses. He watched for a moment as it cawed again, then took off from its perch with a frantic fluttering of wings. As soon as it left the shade, however, the creature burst into flame, disintegrating into ash before Conrad’s eyes.

He turned away and kept walking towards the Elevers’ home. The front door appeared to be caved in, as though something had bashed itself against the wood until it splintered and gave way. He tried to peek inside, but the interior was dark compared to the brightness of the daylight outside.

Giving a gentle knock to the door frame, he called out in Gnomish, “Hello? Anyone home?”

Without warning, a red-faced gnomish woman jumped from the shadows, wielding a cast-iron frying pan.

“GET OUT OF MY HOME YOU FOUL—oh!” She cut herself off as soon as she spotted Conrad. Relief washed over her features, followed by concern.

“Conradere!” She exclaimed in surprise, “I’m glad to see you’re alright. You won’t believe what happened last night!”

“It’s good to see you too, Fiona,” Conrad replied with a small smile, “are children safe?”

“Yes, they’re upstairs,” she replied, “but I can’t say the same for my husband.”

Conrad shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. “Your husband’s at the school, actually. I found him there last night wrestling with—well—” he struggled to find the right word, “—an, um, ‘undead’.”

Fiona nodded grimly, looking away. “My uncle Javert. He wasn’t a great man in life,” she sighed, looking over the destruction of their living room, “and a worse man in death, it seems.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, he’s gone back to being dead,” Conrad offered.

“That’s good to hear, but what of my husband?” She asked, eyes shining.

“Well…” Conrad said, trailing off, “…it might be best if you come and see for yourself.”

Her face fell. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” She said softly.

“Not—not quite,” Conrad said, struggling for words. “It’d be better if he explained it himself.”

Fiona perked up a bit at this, then nodded. “Very well, take me to him,” she said, “—wait, hold on a moment.”

She turned and yelled up the stairs, “Kids! I’m going to the school, wait up there until I get back!”

Conrad heard two small voices yell back, “Ok!” and “Bye mom!”

Fiona turned back to Conrad and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Ramone hadn’t moved at all in the time it took for Conrad to fetch Fiona and bring her to the school. 

“Ramone!” Fiona cried as soon as she spotted him, running to fling her arms around his neck.

“Fiona?” Ramone replied, pulling back from their embrace. He looked to Conrad, betrayal clear on his features. “I did not want you to see me like this,” he confessed to Fiona.

“What do you—” Fiona started to say, but stopped as she took a better look at Ramone. His shirt was still torn and bloodstained and his complexion had become duller. What really gave it away, however, was the sweet smell of rot.

“No,” she gasped, eyes glazed with tears, “you’re—”

Ramone looked away, stepping back from her.

“Wait!” She said, grabbing his hand, “I don’t care if you’re… like this. You’re still my husband. And I still love you, no matter what.”

She pulled him in again, squeezing tight. Over her shoulder, Conrad saw Ramone begin to cry as well.

Conrad turned away awkwardly, shuffling around the reunited couple to get upstairs.

As he entered his bedroom, he felt Iniharit’s presence return once more.

_If we’re going to Benet, we’ll have to travel at night. But I’m afraid I have nothing to give us shelter during the day._

_DO YOU KNOW HOW TO CONSTRUCT A TENT?_

Conrad rolled his eyes. _I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this yet, but I don’t exactly get out much._

_THAT WOULD BE OBVIOUS EVEN IF I WERE NOT POSSESSING YOU._

Conrad snorted in response. _If we’re going to Benet, I should probably get packed. If we’re leaving tonight, well… I’m going to need a nap._

_YOU JUST AWOKE._

_Yes, but if we’re going to be walking all night, I’m going to have to get as much sleep as I can before we leave._

_VERY WELL._

With that, Conrad began rummaging around his room, looking for items he might need while they travelled. It’d been a while since he’d last been to Benet—a few decades, at least. He’d only been to the city once, when the airship he was taking to Kibudeem needed to stop and refuel. Back then, he hadn’t had much time to explore, so he never saw much of the city. He wasn’t sure how long it would take them to get to Benet from Le’repos de L’aile on foot, but he was hoping it wouldn’t be more than a few days at most.

As he filled his pack, he also looked for a suitable outfit to protect himself (well, Iniharit, mainly) from the sun. He’d never been much for fashion, preferring to wear the drab gray or beige robes that many of his fellow academics wore. However, he still had a few accessories from Unum that he’d held onto out of sentimentality. Conrad pulled a wide-brimmed hat out of the top of his closet, smoothing it out where it had been crumpled. It was a traditional Uvalosian style, made out of woven straw and covered with a thin white fabric (though, now, it was more gray than white).

Conrad dug around some more and pulled out one of his old headscarves. It was moth-eaten in some places, but still perfectly wearable, made of a lightweight material that protected the wearer from the sun while still allowing them to breathe.

It’d been nearly a lifetime since he had last worn the scarf, but he still somehow remembered how to don it. Looking in the small silver mirror he rarely ever used, Conrad was suddenly reminded of his childhood—of his mother roughly shoving his unruly curls under the scarf; of sitting in the hot, stuffy temple for hours-long sermons and trying not to nod off; of his mother’s chiding when he’d try to sneak away from midday worship.

It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling—one he hadn’t had to confront in quite some time. It was rare that he felt homesick; there just wasn’t much that he missed about Unum (or his family, for that matter).

Conrad turned away from the mirror, pulling the scarf from his head. Iniharit was still with him, and Conrad had yet to discover the boundaries between their minds. He wasn’t sure how aware Ini was of his surface-level thoughts, or if he even cared enough to pay attention to Conrad’s stream of consciousness. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. And besides, there were some things he just didn’t want to think about.

He grabbed another swathe of fabric to go over his hat, as some added protection, and then shut the closet, satisfied with the things he’d gathered.

Conrad made his way back downstairs, skirting around Ramone and Fiona again, who were too busy passionately making out to pay him any mind. Conrad averted his eyes and shuffled quickly into the kitchen, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of kissing a living corpse.

_You are in no position to judge them,_ he silently chided himself, _love overcomes all, right?_

He wouldn’t be one to know—he’d never been in love. Not like Ramone and Fiona were, anyway. He decided that this was another thing that he did not want to think about, and began preparing some rations to take with him on the journey to Benet.

He’d just about finished packing about ten days of meager rations when he heard Fiona call his name. As he stepped out into the lobby, he saw Fiona and Ramone sitting together on a couple of stools from the archives, holding hands.

“Conrad,” Fiona began, “we have decided that we shall travel to Benet. I have high hopes that there might be someone in the city who could help my husband,” she said with a glance to Ramone.

“Would you like some company?” Conrad offered.

Fiona looked relieved. “Yes, if you would not mind. Ramone mentioned that he saw you cast last night, and we could use the protection.”

“We’ll have to travel at night,” Conrad replied, “since sunlight would be harmful to your husband—and myself, for that matter.”

Fiona’s eyebrows raised. “Are you—” she began, struggling to find the right words.

“My situation is not the same as Ramone’s,” Conrad quickly clarified, “though it is… erm, similar. I am, um—” he paused for a moment, then admitted, “—possessed.”

Fiona stared at him in silence, but Ramone simply nodded.

“You knew?” Conrad asked Ramone, confused.

“I can see him,” Ramone said with a shrug, “I assumed you could as well. Can you not?”

Conrad shook his head, surprised.

“Well,” Fiona continued, clearing her throat, “your company would be appreciated nonetheless. You and—erm,”

“Iniharit,” Conrad finished for her. “His name is Iniharit.”

With their plans in place, Conrad left the couple to their own devices, with the agreement that they would reconvene at nightfall in front of the Elevers’ residence. They would travel south for about half a day (or, night, rather) until they met with the river, then they’d head east until the river emptied into a lake. From there, they’d circumvent the lake, and then it was only a few hours’ walk to Gardevant, a logging outpost that supplied Benet with wood. Fiona had family there that they could stay with for a day or two before they continued their journey to Benet.

_Just thinking about all that walking makes me tired,_ Conrad thought to himself, studying his map again. He yawned, stretching. _I’d better get some rest._

It was nearing midday at this point, but Conrad found it was easy to let himself drift off as soon as his head hit his pillow. He was used to his dreams being vague. It was rare for Conrad to even remembered his dreams when he typically woke. But there was one detail he couldn’t help noticing: every once in a while, Iniharit would join him. He wasn’t there consistently, and when he was, his form was little more than a vague assumption of what Conrad thought Iniharit looked like. But it was unmistakably Iniharit.

When Conrad awoke, it was to a sharp pain on his right thumb. He started, vertigo seizing him as he realized that he wasn’t in his bed; rather, he was sitting at the kitchen table downstairs, a large swathe of patched-together fabric spread out before him. He held a needle in his left hand, which happened to be the source of the pain in his right thumb.

_Ini…? What are you—_

_AH, YOU ARE AWAKE. THIS IS GOOD, WE SHALL DEPART SOON._

_What is this?_ Conrad asked, lifting an edge of the fabric spread across the kitchen table.

_A TENT. I COULD NOT FIND ONE, SO I MADE ONE. YOU ARE LUCKY I REMEMBERED HOW TO SEW._

Conrad looked down at his hands. His fingers hurt from the multitude of little pricks left by the needle. He was surprised he managed to sleep through it all.

_Thank you, Ini. This will do nicely._

Conrad could tell from his internal clock that it was nearing seven in the evening. He quickly folded the tent, packing it away with the other belongings he’d planned on bringing. As he was about to leave the school, he took one last look at the archives— _his_ archives. The collection of journals, scrolls, books, and other materials that he’d spent the last twenty-something years of his life expanding and maintaining.

_I’ll come back,_ he thought to himself, caressing the spine of a shelved book. _This isn’t goodbye._

With one last glance thrown over his shoulder, Conrad left the Veitashung Observatory and School of Naturalism and Transmutation and headed to the Elevers’ residence.


End file.
